


Into the Arms of Death

by glacis



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:05:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas makes a vow that he fails to keep. Boromir falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Arms of Death

Into the Arms of Death, by Sue Castle. Rated R, no copyright infringement intended. Fellowship of the Ring **movie** story; also borrows from book-canon. Sequel to [Interlock](http://www.castleskeep.net/Interlock.htm).

 

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater." Haldir, Fellowship of the Ring.

 

The journey begun with such resolution had drawn first blood, and the wound was a grievous one. The mines of Moria claimed the steady light at the center of the Fellowship, and the companions' hearts were leaden with grief. Legolas stood unsteady upon the snow, the relief of the clean air in place of the close confines of the crushing mines nothing to the ache upon his soul at the remembrance of Gandalf falling into the dark, defending the Fellowship from the beast of shadow and flame.

All about him lay Hobbits and Men and Dwarf, heads bowed as they sobbed or raised to the sun, eyes blinded still by darkness. He wished, for a bare moment, that tears came to Elven eyes with such easy grace, but it was not the way of his kind. His loss lay heavy within him; only a great distance of time spent in honor of memory and many hymns of lament would eventually lighten it.

Then Aragorn called for them to resume their journey; Boromir protested, but Legolas moved to obey. Survival must take precedence over all, no matter how their hearts were rent; with a glance at Boromir, he saw the same understanding sink into the Man. Together they gathered the remnants of their Fellowship and continued on their way to Lothlo'rien.

As they neared the city, famed in song and legend though strange to his eyes, he felt the shadow on his heart shift. The trees sang to him; the river eased his physical aches and lightened by some degrees his emotional pain as well. This journey had caused turmoil in his mind unlike any he'd encountered in his long life, and with so much ground yet to cover, he knew the loss was only the first of many, whether by death, or disgrace, or denial.

But once within the grace of Lothlo'rien, a place out of time, he could put such dark thoughts aside and find comfort in rest. The initial response of the guardians of the Wood to the Fellowship was hostile, as Haldir and his warriors reacted with instinctual distrust to the presence of Gimli among them, but the Lady Galadriel herself gave word of welcome, and they found ease under the mallorn trees or wandered the paths of Caras Galadhon, delighting in the sweet peace in the air, sinking into beds of soft grass decorated with golden elanor and pale niphredil when the urge to sleep was upon them.

Days passed, as their wounds healed and their strength was recovered. Legolas spent little of it with his companions, needing, more than he could ever recall, the company of his own kind, the caress of the leaves against his skin and the whisper of the wind in his hair. Soon, for reasons he did not yet closely examine, he invited Gimli to join him on his wanderings, and as time passed, he found his heart opening to the Dwarf in ways he had never before experienced, least expecting to find such close understanding in such an unlikely form.

Yet even in a land unstained by darkness as the Golden Wood was, deep in the cradle of the heart of Elvendom, time passed, and destiny could not long be denied. At long last yet too soon came their final night in Lothlo'rien before resuming their journey, and Legolas forced his mind from the joys he was discovering in Gimli's presence, and the lingering pain of the loss of Gandalf. Casting his eye on the company, he found himself somewhat dismayed.

The Hobbits clustered together, in their disparate pairs, Sam supporting Frodo whilst Merry and Pippin leaned against one another. Gimli sat close by during council, and his warmth by Legolas' side was solidly reassuring. Aragorn was torn, his way uncertain, his path unguided for the first time since the quest began. Having perforce taken on the mantle torn from Gandalf as Frodo's guide, he made the decision to continue the dread journey to Mordor, leading the Fellowship, before turning his face toward Gondor and fulfilling his promise to Boromir to support their people. Boromir himself, however, appeared distracted, his eyes flickering to Frodo and away, his lips tightly compressed as if to hold back hot words or stem the outward flow of some dark internal debate.

Legolas settled against a tree, the smooth bark soothing to his spine, and considered the Man. After their play at the sulfur springs, he and Boromir had found an easier understanding, and Boromir's stance had been less guarded, not only towards the Elf, but towards the others as well. He had teased and taught swordsmanship to Merry and Pippin, treated Sam and Frodo with awkward care, and listened well to Aragorn. To Gimli he'd shown respect, and in the mines of Moria before the tragedy it had been Boromir's hand that had clasped the Dwarf's shoulder in consolation at the death of his cousin the King.

That ease was broken, now. Boromir scarce glanced at Gimli, held himself apart from Legolas, and made small nervous movements as if the Wood itself pulled at him with sharp-nailed claws. His demeanor gave Legolas pause, causing unease to grow in his mind. There was no evil in Lothlo'rien that was not brought into it by outsiders; though Boromir was not evil, he could at times be impulsive, acting without thought, and his words at the Council of Elrond regarding the usage of the One Ring in the defense of Gondor echoed in Legolas' memory.

The decision was eventually made by Aragorn and supported, if reluctantly in Sam's case and grudgingly in Boromir's, to go downriver to the Falls by boat before heading to the far side, toward Moria. Legolas watched as the Hobbits, nearly all asleep already, were bundled off to their beds. In response to Gimli's look of invitation, Legolas smiled and shook his head in a gentle negative, then nodded in Boromir's direction. Gimli's face darkened, but he nodded in return, and left to take his own bed. Aragorn lingered to speak a few words in private to Boromir, and Legolas was somewhat reassured by the warm clasp of hands they shared before Aragorn, too, sought his bed. Boromir stood to leave and Legolas stepped forward.

"I would ask that you abide by me awhile," he said quietly. Boromir gave him a look surprising in the depth of its wariness. "Shall we walk?"

He gestured toward the still distance, shadowed with night but still somehow warm with the memory of sunlight. Such was the feeling when one was encompassed by the Golden Wood, and Legolas knew it was a comfort he would sorely miss once passed from it. Judging by the lines of care and sorrow carved deep by Boromir's eyes, he would not share that sense of loss. If anything, he looked as if leaving Lothlo'rien behind him would bring him relief. It puzzled Legolas, making him feel remiss at being diverted by his growing fascination with Gimli, his absence leaving an empty space for Boromir's doubts to grow unchecked.

In silence they walked for some way below the trees, listening to the wind, watching the light of the candles flicker through the shifting leaves. To Legolas, it was the song of hope and home, receding even as he listened. From the tension in Boromir's shoulders, it appeared to Legolas that the air sang a warning or a threat to the Man. When they were far enough from their now-slumbering companions to have privacy, Legolas stopped Boromir by placing a hand on his arm.

A hand Boromir shook off, the movement taking Legolas aback. He had not believed the rift between them grown so great in such a short period of time; but then, the days of Men passed quickly, and for Boromir, at least, Legolas' distraction must have been seen as abandonment.

Gathering his thoughts to speak, to press the Man on his rejection, Legolas was startled anew as Boromir broke into rough speech. "It was a slip of the tongue, nothing more; Frodo has nothing to fear from me, for while it is my belief that our way is not the best for the future of my people, I will support this quest with blood and blade until it is done." His eyes stayed on the trees, refusing to meet Legolas' questioning gaze.

Of a sudden, the wind cut sharp, and the song through the leaves grew shrill. A shadow fell upon Boromir's face, chilling Legolas to the soul. As the days had passed the knowledge had been growing in him that his way lay with Gimli, but for his heart's ease and for the sake of their past companionship, he would not willingly leave Boromir to despair.

"Come," he said quietly, risking once more the touch of his hand to Boromir's sleeve. This time, while the muscle beneath the cloth tightened, his hold was not thrown off. "Will you speak to me of your thoughts? I believe that the Halflings have no need to fear you, for you have proven yourself in their defense, as we have proven ourselves a Fellowship, in the course of our quest. You are a good and honorable man, Boromir. But there is a question in your mind, one that has been aired before; one I fear grows stronger the closer we come to the end of our journey and the moment of truth when the Ring will be destroyed. It is the truth that the Ring cannot be used to good purpose, for it embodies evil of a strength neither mortal nor immortal can withstand. Yet you wonder and you question."

"No," Boromir denied, too quickly. His eyes flashed up, a glance of green in the night two shades darker than the grass on which they stood, and his mouth hardened into a thin line. "The decision has been made, and with my oath and my sword I will support it. Let us speak no more of this, for there is no good can come of it."

Legolas disagreed, but faced with the Man's obstinacy, knew of no approach to the sore question that would allow honest discourse. Thinking perhaps persistence might win forth when confrontation failed, he withdrew his touch and settled himself on the soft grass; he looked up at the Man, his face open, his hands gesturing to the ground beside him in an inviting manner. Boromir stood, irresolute.

"Surely you have other places to rest, and other people with whom you'd rather share this last night in your Elven haven?"

The words had an edge of bitterness, and Legolas mourned silently for the loss of ease between them. Shaking his head, he told Boromir, "This night, I have but one purpose and one desire." Allowing the silence to build, he waited for Boromir to ask, but again the Man was obstinate, and Legolas sighed gently. "You have not known the peace we others have found here in the Golden Wood, and I wish to share with you, if only for a moment, a little of the lightening of the burden I have felt."

As if against his will, Boromir's legs folded and he sat beside Legolas. Still his mouth was harshly thinned, and his eyes were narrowed. "I am well aware in what guise your comfort has come, Legolas. It is not only the trees that make in you such lightness and joy."

Reaching out to stroke back a wayward strand of hair, the better to see Boromir's features in the half-light, Legolas was not surprised at the Man's withdrawal. This time, however, he did not allow it. Hands moving faster than mortal eyes could track, he clasped Boromir's chin in his fingers, his hold gentle but unbreakable. Turning the Man's face until perforce their eyes would meet, Legolas stared a long moment into the shuttered depths.

"This journey has shown me wondrous and terrible things, Boromir. I have felt friendship and loss to an extent never before experienced in all my long life. Each day I am confronted with choices; each path I take, I leave other paths behind. I cannot know what the future will hold, and so accept from each moment the joy or pain it gives me."

Leaning forward, a breath away from Boromir's lips, he whispered, "That does not mean my friends are any less dear, for all my choices made. Let this be a moment of joy, not of pain." He dropped the lightest of kisses on Boromir's mouth, then a second, and a third, each longer and deeper than the one before.

These touches, at least, Boromir accepted with a grace bordering on need. The touch of shadow Legolas sensed earlier returned, painted in the unspoken desperation in Boromir's hands as they clasped Legolas' shoulders and the strength in his arms as he drew their bodies together.

An instant later, Legolas found himself thrust back away, Boromir sitting with his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped round them, his head buried against his forearms. It appeared to Legolas as if Boromir was trying to disappear, to make himself so compact as to become nothing at all.

"What of Gimli?" came the muffled question, and Legolas took a deep breath, to unravel as best he could the ache of confusion growing in his chest.

"I know not," he answered truthfully, wishing not to cause pain but unable to lie to avoid it. "He is a part of the larger whole of the future I cannot see."

"As I am the past?" The question was less muffled, as Boromir turned his head to rest his cheek against his arm, staring aslant at Legolas through the fall of brown-gold hair.

"No," Legolas denied immediately. "You are the present, as we all are, and in this moment, I wish to remind us both of the closeness we may share. You are part of the future as well, Boromir, although I know not in what capacity." He took another deep breath, and tangled his fingertips in the Man's hair, brushing it back behind his ear. "I am no seer, merely a bowman, but I am also your friend. Regardless the fate to come, that one fact shall remain true."

Boromir's hand caught Legolas' and drew it from his hair to bring it to his lips. Lifting the captive hand to his face, he ghosted a kiss over the fingers, then brought the palm up to cup his cheek. The bristles of his beard were rough against Legolas' skin, a friendly roughness that reassured him. Curling his fingers, he scratched gently, as he would a cat, and was rewarded with the barest easing of strain in Boromir's shoulders.

They sat there for long moments in silence, Boromir gradually relaxing in Legolas' presence; the Elf wondered what thoughts chased themselves in the Man's mind, and was gratified that his company could bring comfort. In time, Boromir turned to face Legolas, one hand rising to sift through the fall of bright braided hair, coming to rest round the nape of his neck.

Eyes watchful, body relaxed, Legolas flowed with Boromir's urging, tilting his head to meet the kiss Boromir offered. There was comfort in this as well, acceptance of the limits inherent in his friendship, imposed by his growing closeness with Gimli; willingness to share what they might whilst they could. Taking the touch and returning it in kind, he felt an ease growing between himself and Boromir that mirrored the companionship they'd found before entering Lothlo'rien, and his heart rejoiced.

As their kisses deepened, so too did their touches, as hands roamed beneath clothing, loosening fastenings and pushing back cloth to reveal skin hungry for that touch. His courtship of Gimli, for that he now knew it to be, was a chaste one, and his body was all too ready to remember the feel of another against it.

This coupling held none of the play that marked their first coming-together. The days had left their mark on both, and this joining was made of night and soft whispers and mingled regret. As Boromir's hands skimmed over Legolas' chest, moving over his ribs, down his belly and along his limbs, it felt to the Elf as if the touch both greeted and bid farewell. Their kisses had a bittersweet flavor, the fears shading the future mixing with the knowledge that this moment, once passed, would only again be revisited in memory, never in fact.

The grass was soft against his skin as Legolas lay back, pulling Boromir over him, the bulk of the Man's body blocking out the shifting light from the candles; as Boromir leaned to kiss him, the moon painted a nimbus of light round his head, fire glinting from the gold in his hair, before their lips met and the moonlight was extinguished to Legolas' eye.

In that instant, he knew that the path ahead, perilous as it already was, had darkened yet more. Boromir was the one Companion more truly on the edge of the knife than any of the others, not through circumstance but through the doubts and fears hidden within his own heart; Legolas made a vow, heard only by himself but no less vehement in its silence, that he would do everything in his power to ensure when Boromir fell it would not be into shadow.

Newfound determination in his movements, Legolas wrapt strong arms about Boromir's shoulders, strong legs about his waist, and guided the Man's movements until they were one. Head thrown back, eyes open to drink in the pleasure on Boromir's face, Legolas moved with him until ecstasy overcame the Man, drinking his scream in a kiss, holding him through the shaking afterward until Boromir lay still in Legolas' embrace.

Long moments passed, as the heart thundering beneath Boromir's ribs gradually slowed, the sweat cooled on his skin and the trembling in his muscles diminished. With affectionate kisses, he gathered Legolas against him, his hand embracing the hardness still lingering, until Legolas shuddered to his own completion, burying his face against the Man's warm throat and biting at the thin soft skin beneath his mouth to stifle his cries.

They spoke little as they lay there together, the closeness of their bodies a reassurance in itself. After a time, Boromir made a move as if to untangle himself from Legolas' arms, but the Elf stopped him with a touch.

"Stay with me and rest awhile, Boromir," he whispered against the Man's ear, nuzzling gently as he spoke. "This is time out of time, and it is _our_ time. Let us enjoy it whilst we may, for such an opportunity for private peace may not come again for a long while."

Unspoken lay the truth that such close moments between them, in word if not deed, would wither as the quest continued, and the intimacy they'd shared that night would not occur again, although the knowledge of future denial lay heavy on Legolas' heart. Still the shadows in Boromir's eyes had lessened, and that had been the Elf's intent, so he was content with his night's work.

Succumbing to the gentle pressure of Legolas' hands, Boromir allowed himself to be drawn back into the Elf's arms, and there he slept, cradled against the fair chest, until dawn was breaking. Legolas lay listening: to the wind; to the breathing of the Man in his embrace; to the rush of mortal blood through a heart perhaps too large to deflect the doubts assailing it. As the first rays of bright sunlight broke through the leaves, picking out the strands of auburn and gold in the tangle of brown beneath his hand, Legolas stroked the softness of Boromir's hair one last time.

The Man was awake with the sun, leaning into the touch on his head then pulling back to place a soft kiss on Legolas' mouth. Boromir smiled, and while there was a hint of darkness underlying the curve of his lips, there was also the charm of old; Legolas found himself heartened by it. He returned the kiss, then watched Boromir rise and dress. Marks of passion were scattered upon his body, from forays of hands and mouth the previous night, and Boromir paused at the sight of them.

Lifting his head, he gifted Legolas with another smile, sweeter this time and full of mischief, so like the Boromir of early on their journey that Legolas was helpless in the face of it. Rising to his feet, he wound his arms round Boromir's neck and kissed that smile, smiling himself through the kiss.

All would be well, as long as light maintained dominion over the darkness in the Man's nature. It would be Legolas' task to do all he could to ensure that it would. He owed his friend no less.

 

"Alas for us all! And for all that walk the world in these after-days. For such is the way of it; to find and lose, as it seems to those whose boat is on the running stream." Legolas.

The fate of the Fellowship balanced on the edge of a blade, until balance was lost.

Distracted by the threat growing in his mind, the silent marching footsteps ringing in his bones if not his ears, Legolas did not see the final act begin. The boats were tied at the head of the Falls, the Hobbits falling about in their usual disarray once again on dry land, Gimli grousing, Aragorn moving among them; but of Boromir there was no sign, and Legolas' eyes, bent as they were on the shadow coming up fast upon them, took no notice of the darkness bursting forth amongst them.

Aragorn took counsel with him on future plans, and Legolas gave him what warning he could, unclear as it was. The enemy drew nigh, hastening upon them; a shadow and a threat grew behind them, greater than the Orc, darker than any he'd sensed since the demon in the deep had taken Gandalf. Before he could be pressed on what he could not yet explain, the alarm was raised.

Frodo was missing.

As was Boromir.

The round shield lay by the Man of Gondor's bedroll, but the Man himself was absent. His sword and Horn, of course, were missing as well; no matter how divided his thoughts by the siren call of the Ring, he was a warrior first and last, his blade as much a part of him as his strong right arm or his duty toward his people.

It was discomfiting to all that he and the Ringbearer should both be gone. Legolas exchanged a glance with Aragorn, and the hunt for their errant companions began.

It did not end well.

The Orc were upon them before the search had scarce commenced. Legolas, Gimli at his back, fought wave after wave of the foul creatures, in numbers unlike any he had ever seen in long centuries fighting the vermin. This, indeed, was a fell army, proof if proof be needed of how low Saruman the Wise had fallen. For these were not the army of Sauron; they included in their ranks fearsome creatures unlike any Legolas had ever seen, great hulking beasts that were nigh unstoppable. Upon their faces they bore a mark, a white hand on their twisted brows. The ownership brand of the once-mighty Lord of Isengard. The purity of the mark against the filthy skin was a mockery, light consumed by darkness, wisdom undone by fear and greed for power.

Bloodlust sang in him as Legolas fought, hands a blur as arrows flew until his quiver was empty. Still the enemy advanced. His knives were next to find flesh, singing in his hands as he dealt death blow after death blow to the masses of dark soldiers. In his heart of hearts the sure knowledge came to him that this was the end, that the quest had failed, as they would surely be overcome by the sheer weight of their enemies' number.

Yet, he did not fall. Rather, those he could not kill flowed past him, eyes forward, snouts drawn into the snarls of hunting dogs, black hearts fixed on a prize beyond him. Fighting against the tide of bodies, slashing and stabbing on all sides as his desperate pace left Gimli behind, Legolas struggled to gain Aragorn's side. For where he would find the King, there he would find the Ringbearer, and as long as Frodo remained alive, their quest had a breath of hope to succeed.

He was too far from his goal when he heard a sound that froze his heart in his breast. The Horn of Gondor, a cry for help in the wilderness from Boromir's lips, in this time of need drawing the eye of the beast as well as the help of friends, too far distant from his homeland to draw the warriors of Gondor to his side. The battle shifted, carrying Legolas along with it, and he lost sight of Aragorn as he fought to defend himself and carve his way clear to Boromir's side.

Orc died like leaves in the last days of autumn as Legolas felt renewed energy burn through his body. Plucking arrows from corpses as he ran, shooting them as quickly as he retrieved them only to retrieve them again to be shot, he followed the clarion call of the Horn.

Until it was no more.

Slaughtering the last of the enemy impeding his path, he ran as swiftly as the wind over grass, but his best speed was not quick enough. Bursting into a clearing, near-stumbling over the mass of Orc slashed to pieces by Boromir's sword, the heart frozen within him shuddered, and cracked.

Boromir, pierced through shoulder and gut and heart by the black arrows of the beast, lay dying in Aragorn's arms. His valiant defense of the Hobbits for whom he'd cared was easily seen in the grievous nature of his wounds, and his failure in that defense was as easily heard in the heartbreak of his words. Legolas could do naught but stand, useless weapons hanging limply at his side, as Aragorn gave Boromir his forgiveness, and Boromir in turn swore his fealty.

His final oath was telling, as his breath expired with his life, upon the last words. Accepting in death as he had never admitted in life, that Gondor did indeed need her king; for himself, acknowledging Aragorn as his brother, leader, and sovereign. Gifted in return for his acceptance with the blessing of that king, the love of that brother, the gratitude of that leader, and the knowledge that he had given his life with honor in the defense of the Fellowship.

Cold comfort to the Companions he left behind, but a sliver of warmth curled round the ice coating Legolas' heart to know that Boromir the Fair had died a warrior's death; for those left to lament, he would be remembered a hero in song as long as memory survived. Legolas watched with burning eyes as Aragorn kissed Boromir's pale face, only then moving forward to assist in preparing the body for the final journey.

Over the falls. As befit a hero of Gondor.

Still, as it had been when the darkness claimed Gandalf, there was no time to grieve; no time to bring forth the pain in his heart and craft it into song; no time for dwelling in memory of fondness bestowed and affection returned. Their quest pressed upon them. As Legolas carefully placed the sword along Boromir's chest, he glanced into the calm, still face, and vowed that the day would come when that lament would be sung, and the memories bring what comfort they might.

Back at the sole remaining boat, watching Frodo and Sam disappear on the far shore, he listened in disbelief as Aragorn admitted to abandoning the Ringbearer. Gimli spoke Legolas' own thoughts when he angrily decried the failure of the Fellowship; but Aragorn's quiet resolve to rescue Merry and young Pippin, as well as the sideways glance and soft smile with which the Dwarf gifted him, gave Legolas' mind what peace his heart could not yet find.

For in the end, whilst Man and Dwarf and Elf still fought shoulder to shoulder for the future of Middle Earth, in defense not only of the Halflings but of the Light itself, then they truly would not fail. Glancing but once more over his shoulder at the rush of water over which Boromir's body had vanished, Legolas closed his eyes, gave silent farewell, then turned to join his companions in rescue.

 

"It is a choice between defending a strong place and walking openly into the arms of death. At least, that is how I see it." Boromir.

His choice had been made. It was the honor and the duty of the surviving members of the Fellowship to ensure that his sacrifice had not be in vain.

 

end

 


End file.
